I want it to rain today.

Looking back, I’m not the same man I was when I was 10.

Here’s to another round.

Last day as a teenager. Not going to ring out this phase of my life by doing something irresponsibly fun because my very existence is irresponsible

I’m such a proud guy. It’s slowly killing me. 
I’m convinced I don’t change. I’m still young. This may be a massive shifting point. Something is going to give soon. 

I’m the kind of guy that needs to get hit by a bus in order to start moving in the different direction.

Every time an anti-colonialist views a Holocaust memorial, I’m sure the little thought that the nation they currently live in was founded on hundred-year holocausts enters their mind.

Why is it that every time I hear of an event memorializing the Holocaust, I  think of how the Middle Passage, or slavery- or the erasure of middle American civilizations from the face of the earth, is never memorialized in that fashion, how it never was, and likely will never be.

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No, I will not be listening to Sinead O’Connor do reggae covers.

No, I do not want to listen to you sing along to Sinead O’Connor sing along to Burning Spear’s “Jah No Dead”.

My pop is turning into one corny motherfucker.

Seeing him grow old is strange.

just realized

my good white friend mentioned how the first year of middle school was hard for her little brother because he had to go to a majority minority (lol) school in Kansas City (Missouri, she always emphasizes). 

but like

i was the only brother in my classes from pre k

and that was very hard. so

*and I still am the only brother in my class (in my entire school)

I will never know what it is like to learn in a room full of black folk. But it doesn’t mean much to her that she knows what it’s like to go learn in a spot full of white folk- well, it doesn’t mean much to her until her little brother isn’t in a room like that. For a year. 

so

I’ve also noticed how she clarifies that she is from Kansas City, MO. Like I give a fuck. I’ve been there, and you ain’t got no black folk in your neighborhood. I haven’t looked at the stats, but I’ll bet more brown people are posted in Kansas City, KS. I know the language. She’s the white friend that after you talk about how you only saw your late grandmother twice in your life because she lives on an island hundreds of miles away she goes on to talk about how her family lives in the same house her grandparents raised her father in and how big her family is and how they stretch all over fucking america. She’s he white friend who is sure to have another rich white uncle/aunt/cousin in whatever city she finds herself in. She’s the white friend that finds it strange that you have the fondest memories of public pools because her family had a lakehouse (and they don’t say “the lakehouse” they actually say The Ozarks like the fucking own the entire damn region), so she hated swimming with other people- but she just says she hated the chlorine the most. She’s the white friend that realized the other day that’s she’s attracted two types of guys- white hipsters, or “ethnic” men. 

But I love her like a sister. Because the truth is, she will be a privileged white girl for all her life. I’ve got her back, and she has mine. I look out for her, as I’m sure she does for me. We are very close. When I ignore the potent privilege, she’s one of my best friends.

But then again, I’m as close to her as I can ever get to a white person.

Which is, little do they know, not to close at all. Cause you and I know when push comes to shove…

But she’s still a good friend. I really look forward to becoming old friends together. 

It’s out of your range. You don’t remember the order of the verses.
It’s six in the morning, and this car is small.

I already hate hearing other people sing. Please stop.

The “Sass-A-Frass Award”

Because _________ is a “sass-a-frass” and is so with “style”, ready to throw “spiced-up” comments in your face, if necessary.*

*quotations my own

What the fuck?
Her response: “So…greatest achievement of my life? I love my ________family!”

I’ve known this for a while, but this confirms it. My sister is and has been a lost cause. Help us.

And I said, “What? With you?”

I’m chilling in a large black raincoat and it’s sunny out

got me feeling like Inspector Gadget i feel so cool

I’ve got to get my life together. I just wasted a third semester of my life.

Why can’t I just fail all around. It makes more sense than this mess.

I have three good friends.

They all bought a house and are moving in with each other.

Guess who feels left out. aha eyyyy

I can’t be listening to Lianne La Havas at this time of night I get swoony and longing and pathetic

I cant just wear out my arm each time I shoot as hard as I can into the sky. There aren’t any targets up there. You just watch it shrink out of sight. You can’t just assume it keeps going. 

I stand here aiming straight up with my neck cricked back and my eyes and ears closed shut so I can’t see or hear all those dead arrows stuck in the earth around me. All I know is that if I keep shooting up, I’m shooting high.
I’m shooting far. Every shot farther than the last.

And I could be shooting farther than you. You don’t know. I could have some distance on you. All you know is that shit looks fucking far, even though you can’t really tell for sure. Nobody’s got a meter stick up there. Shit’s all relative when there’s nothing to measure up against but clouds and air.

But you can see how hard I’m pulling though. You can see how big my arm is; its just like any of those top gunners out there. You know it, and they know it. I’m getting some distance, for sure.

But I don’t see it, and I guess don’t hear ‘em when they come down six inches deep (and six inches from my feet) either. When I started Ma told me to shoot the farthest, so I found out if I shot up, nobody could tell me otherwise so I just kept doing that. And every once in a while she says “Damn, that’s far,” and I feel good. 

So I’m still here shooting up. I getting more length  on it but it doesn’t matter- the same shit keeps pulling me down stronger than I could ever push ‘em up. And I’ve always known they always come back, raining down…and soon, one of those arrowheads are gonna split my scalp in two

just because I’m afraid of shooting straight. Coming up shorter than forever.